


smile like your heart is breaking

by renlyne



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Future Fic, M/M, despite any claims made below this is most definitely a tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:40:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renlyne/pseuds/renlyne
Summary: If we take Shakespeare as a guide, a story isn’t a tragedy unless somebody dies. Their story, then, is not a tragic one.(Or: Nick’s getting married.)





	smile like your heart is breaking

  
  


He’d just finished re-tying his bowtie for the fourth time, was moving on to needlessly straightening his corsage, when there was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in!” Nick’s voice held steady, and he gave himself a tiny nod of approval in the mirror. He had at least another ten minutes before the processional music, so that probably wasn’t Pix coming to get him yet, but even still— no reason to panic. Only a very small chance that someone was about to rush through the door with a life-ruining emergency. Unlikely that tonight's venue had spontaneously burned down, and that knock was Aimee’s way of having sympathy for his nerves as she came to break it to him. 

It wasn’t Aimee swinging her head around the door.

“Haz,” he heard himself breathe. “Fucking hell, Harry. What? How did you—?” Nick blinked a couple times, but it was still very much Harry looking back at him every time he opened his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re _here_.”

Harry’s smile was smug, thrilled with himself as ever, and his eyes were bright. “Nice thing about a private plane is that it can take off right after a show and get you back halfway round the world by the next night.”

“Oh my god, Haz. I can’t—” he didn’t even finish his sentence, had crossed the room from where he was fiddling with his hair (promises to Lou that he’d leave it alone having gone wildly unheeded) in two giant strides, was at the doorway before he’d even consciously decided to move. He pulled Harry fully into the dressing room by his forearm, and had him crushed in a hug as soon as the door swung shut. 

“You’re such an idiot,” Harry was muttering into his shoulder, grin still in his voice. He was hugging back fiercely, pressing his face close. “As if I could’ve missed your big day.”

Nick laughed, tightened his arms briefly. “You should have told me! I would’ve pushed things around. Obviously couldn’t chuck Aimee out, but there’s someone up there with me I like less than you, guaranteed. You could’ve had my brother’s spot!” He could feel Harry shaking his head, rolling it from side to side, and Nick carefully didn’t think about how long it had been since he’d last had Harry coiled so tightly around him. “Can’t _believe_ you passed up the opportunity for another custom suit.”

He pulled back, hands sliding up to settle on Harry’s shoulders and squeezing mostly without any conscious control. 

He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this wasn’t real, that he was talking to a hologram, but then again a picture could never quite do Harry justice. A picture wouldn’t have been radiating heat up into Nick’s palms either, or had the curls on one side of his head slightly flattened from where he’d clearly been leaning against the window of the plane or the car.

The smile on Harry’s face though— 

Nick’s eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit, and his hands slid down to his sides. 

The initial shock had distracted him, but the longer he looked at Harry — that smile _was_ from pictures. Magazine covers. Seen through telephoto lenses as Harry walked through airports. 

Nick could feel the mirth on his own face start to slip in response.

“Nah,” Harry said, stopping to clear his throat. His tone when he continued was cheerful, earnest, teasing. Manufactured perfectly. “He’d never have forgiven me, and I like his kid too much to risk it.” 

Nick could barely remember what they were talking about, felt a weird sort of emotional whiplash. 

_Andrew_ , his brain supplied after a second. _Groomsmen. (Smiles that don’t reach your eyes.)_

It was Nick’s turn to cough a little. Swallow in a way that spoke of sudden nerves. 

“Yeah, probably for the best.” He held back a wince as soon as the words left his mouth. Fucking hell. “Not that—”

“No, no. You’re right. Probably… yeah.” There was a long pause. Neither of them looked away from each other, and Nick couldn’t decide if that was to their credit or (yet another) strike against them. 

Harry went on eventually, some of that previous levity still in his voice. “Plus, get to sit with my mum this way. She’ll be dead pleased to have another shoulder to cry happy tears all over. Never could keep a dry eye at weddings.”

Nick smiled briefly at that, couldn’t hope to keep his fondness for Anne off his face.

“Should probably go down and see her, actually,” Harry said, after another minute had passed. “Find a seat. I just wanted to,” he trailed off, lifted and then pushed back the front of his hair. It was a tick that had made a lot more sense years ago, when his hair had reached past his shoulders. Something about the familiarity of it had Nick swallowing again. He watched Harry lick his lips in exactly the same way he’d done a million times before; watched as he pressed his lips together tightly for just a beat too long. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I’m so—” he cut off, took a breath, and Nick felt his own breath shorten slightly at Harry’s tone. “I’m so _happy_ for you.” His voice broke painfully on _happy_ , and Nick couldn’t look away from the way Harry’s lips pursed, jaw clenching for a second, eyes brighter than ever. His voice was still slightly uneven when he went on. “Grim, I’m so happy, and I’m sorry I never RSVP’d, I just—” 

— _wasn’t sure I could come, and much preferred the idea of you being surprised to the idea of you being disappointed_ , Nick’s brain filled in. _Lost the little card, and didn’t think to call or text or send word via carrier pigeon._ _(Am Harry Styles, and have so much more of myself left to give to millions of strangers when I forego making promises — big or small — to the twenty-or-so friends closest to my heart.)_

“Doesn’t matter.” Nick hated how his voice sounded when he finally unfroze enough to respond, suddenly soft and vaguely gravelly where it had been normal the minute before. “I put you on the seating chart for the reception anyway.” He coughed a bit. “Course you’ve ruined my cunning master plan of isolating the new wankery nighttime guy by actually showing up to take the seat next to him, but,” Nick shrugged. “There we have it. Got you the vegan entree, hope that’s alright.”

It was Harry’s turn to visibly swallow, before the corner of his mouth twitched up, “You put me on the seating chart?”

Nick had. He couldn’t have told you _why_ , given the voice in his head that had kept continually reminding him that Harry hadn’t bothered to tick a little box and mail back a prepaid envelope _._ But—

Nick had put his name down anyway.

It wasn’t like Harry to miss important things just because they were difficult.

It wasn’t like him, except for how it was.

Nick had put his name down anyway, but he’d expected the chair to be empty. 

And Nick had absolutely no religious leanings, but he just _knew_ that someone, somewhere, was laughing about this. He thought he might join them. It just— it _was_ a bit funny, that Harry would pick now to show up. To make the time. He missed Christmases, birthdays, art openings, brunches. Sent pictures with sand and palm trees in the background as apologies for his absence when he wasn’t touring, one line texts like _‘good luck tonight xx’_ when he was. And yet here he was, right smack dab in the middle of the American leg of a world tour, standing in Nick’s dressing room. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Nick whispered, uselessly, the same words over again. 

There must have been something in his tone this time though, because Harry bit his lip hard enough that it turned white. “Nick, I—” he looked away, didn’t go on for what felt like an eternity, but really had probably been less than a minute. He’d redirected by the time he spoke. “You know, I never thought you’d actually get married.”

Nick did laugh at that. “Oh, _thanks_.” 

A smile flashed over Harry’s face. “No, no, not like that. I just,” and suddenly the laughter had fallen from his tone, gone as quickly as it had come. “I didn’t think you wanted it. But— you do, yeah? This is good?”

Harry (and this time it definitely _was_ to his credit) was looking him straight in the eye, and Nick’s instinctive _‘would be a little late now if I didn’t’_ died on his tongue. He closed his eyes for a beat, opened them again. “Yeah. Yeah, I want it.” He swallowed, went on a bit helplessly when that didn’t seem to be enough. “Haz, he— he loves me, and he wants to marry me, and— built in best friend, innit? A _‘fuck off he’s mine’_ to the universe. Partner-in-crime. Can you imagine, him wanting _me_ to be his permanent partner-in…” Nick trailed off, braced himself. “Plus,” he licked his lips where they’d gone dry, “like, agencies like it. Adoption agencies.”

There were a few seconds of silence. 

“Oh my god, Nick,” Harry breathed, eyes still too bright but smile suddenly huge and real. 

It was exactly the reaction Nick had been expecting, and the side of his mouth ticked up in return. “Yeah,” he all but whispered, throat gone inexplicably tight.

Their eyes locked again, and it was Harry who moved first this time, going in for one of his infamous octopus hugs. “This is good,” he whispered once his arms were tangled around Nick’s back, and this time it wasn’t a question. “This is wonderful, this is everything you deserve.” His tone had gone thick, throat hoarse, voice totally at odds with the next words out of his mouth. “Nick, I’m so happy.” 

They stayed frozen like that for long enough that Nick sunk into the hug, stopped wondering if he needed to pull away for the sake of politeness. It came as a bit of a shock when Harry’s arms suddenly tightened impossibly further, his head turning slightly towards Nick’s. “I’m so happy,” he whispered again, and Nick’s hand fisted itself in the back of Harry’s suit jacket as soon as he registered the tears in his voice. 

Nick swallowed compulsively, felt his own throat start to burn. “Haz… I really love him.” 

The silence was charged for a second, before Harry whispered, “I’m so glad,” softly, seriously. Like he meant it. No hint of sarcasm or bitterness, not that Nick had been expecting any.

It was another minute or two before Harry pulled back, smiled a slightly watery grin. “Sorry. It’s in my DNA. Can’t keep dry eyes at a wedding.”

Nick’s huffed a laugh, managed: “Do _not_ start complaining about your genetics. Your mother is one of the fittest women of my acquaintance, and also your face looks like that. So. Swings and roundabouts, but mostly swings.”

Harry breathed a shaky laugh right back, shook his head a bit. “I’ve been told my face is quite average looking, actually.” He tried to smirk, somewhat ruined the effect by having to sniff and dry his nose.

He just looked at Nick for a minute, eyes still too wide and too bright, and Nick stared right back. He’d never had much luck at being the first to look away once Harry was actually in front of him; was much better at being distant from behind a screen.

“Did you ever think—” Harry cut himself off before he got the question out, blinked away the slightly appalled look that settled briefly over his features. “Never mind. No, I’m sorry, never mind.” 

He was shaking his head, backing slightly towards the door, his whole body suddenly in motion where it had been a statue the moment before. 

_Did you ever think—_

“You look wonderful, by the way, and the ceremony is going to be beautiful. I can already tell. I’m gonna go and get a seat, say hi to my mum and your mum and I’ll— I’ll talk to you at the reception, yeah?”

Nick couldn’t seem to unstick his tongue, watched mutely as Harry smiled one last time and turned to leave, mind frozen over a decade ago. Back before he’d fully realized that Harry was happiest when he was jetting around the world, that he felt most at home on a stage in front of tens of thousands of strangers. That he thought of being with his friends and family as a vacation, rather than the other way around. 

That the corollary to Harry dropping into your life for a few weeks (into your bed for a few years), and it feeling like you were the most important person in his world, was that he shifted that all-consuming focus to the next person in front of him. That as soon as his back was turned, you started getting afterthought texts from LA that read _‘good luck tonight xx’_ on the most important nights of your career. 

And he was frozen, because before he’d realized all of that: _oh, but he’d thought_.

Maybe if things had been different. Just slightly. If he’d still been a DJ and Harry had still been a pop star, but one that hadn’t gone quite so stratospheric, or at least hadn’t done it quite so young. If Harry’d had a bit more time to associate home with something other than crisp white hotel sheets, or hadn’t come to understand relationships as things that always fall catastrophically apart, too dangerous to risk with anyone you wanted to keep in your life. 

“Harry,” he called, and watched him spin back around just before stepping through the door. Nick swallowed. “In another life, yeah?”

And Harry smiled for a second, fleeting but bright like the sun, even as he was still reaching up to dash away a stray tear. Smiled like he understood everything that Nick hadn’t said. “Yeah,” he got out. “Yeah, looking forward to it.”

 

 

*

 

 

The ceremony was beautiful. 

 

 

*

 

 

Two days later, Nick stopped scrolling through Twitter for long enough to watch a shaky clip of Harry telling the sold out crowd at Madison Square Garden that he was so grateful to be there, that there was nowhere he’d rather be. 

He blew out a breath that shook just the slightest bit as he took in the look on Harry’s face. The wild exhilaration, the sparkling eyes, the warmth underneath that ridiculous smile. 

_Nowhere I’d rather be._

Nick kept scrolling, impossibly grateful for the screen. For the distance. For the chance to look away. 

For the ease of escape from the expression on Harry’s face. 

Escape from those eyes, that smile. 

From that look: that captivating, magnetic happiness. Sunshine overflowing with charisma. 

That look on his face as he confided in 20,789 strangers that there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be. 

The one that said he probably meant it. 

  
  
  
  



End file.
